::Author's Notes:: Like many fangirls (if the amount of fanfic related to Will captaining the Dutchman posted here is any indication), I was deeply moved by the tragic ending Will faced at the end of AWE. I have read that the little snippet after the credits means that Will was granted a second chance at life. I know I should hope for a happy ending for him, but the angst-addicted romantic in me thinks that is a cop-out and cheapens the depth of Will's sacrifice. Besides, a green flash also appeared when Will left Elizabeth on the beach before the credits, so I don't think that the green after the credits necessarily means that Will was able to return.

But, still, this is my angsty take on what may have happened, starting with the possibility that Norrington could somehow join the Dutchman's crew. It takes place largely right after the pre-credit events of AWE, but also contains flash backs in italics.

WARNINGS: this story contains lots of angst, references to child abuse, and may contain unrequited slash in later chapters, because I'm an unapologetic slash addict. If any of that bugs you, please go elsewhere. There are tons of great fics out there related to this subject so if mine isn't your cup of tea, I know you can find something else that interests you. Thanks!

At first, James Norrington imagined that he had been sentenced to hell. He was dead, that was for certain. The barnacled crewman with the starfish by his eye had skewered him clean through. As he lay dying, Jones had asked some cryptic question about whether or not James feared death. James answered by stabbing the Dutchman in one final defiant move that he hoped would buy Elizabeth some time in her escape, and then, all had been blackness. He did not know how much time had passed before he woke up, shivering and alone in a tiny dinghy, surrounded by the thickest of fogs beneath a starless sky. If this was not heaven, James reasoned, then he had to be in hell.

It was strange, but the thought of suffering eternal punishment, bobbing alone at sea with only his heavy conscience for company, was almost a relief. He had meant what he said to Elizabeth at their final parting—he had nothing to do with the death of Governor Swann, but that did not absolve him from his other sins. He had misjudged Beckett badly, and that misjudgment had cost hundreds of people who had the poor fortune to so much as meet a pirate the noose. Becket was an even greater monster than Davy Jones. James had many regrets, and he found himself longing for some sort of punishment to ease his guilty conscience.

Elizabeth had made a pointed remark about whether or not James knew which side he had chosen, and he frankly did not have an answer for it. When he had taken the Dutchman's heart on that god-forsaken island, James knew he would have done anything to get his old life back. He could not be sure that he would have done anything differently, no matter how much he wanted to believe he would have been noble and selfless.

Thoughts of his final meeting with Elizabeth spiraled downward into bitter memories and regrets of his wasted life in Port Royal. Spending so much time alone, floating aimlessly through the fog, was exquisite torture. There was nothing for James to do but obsess about his many mistakes. He had expected his thoughts to swirl around Elizabeth Swann—his fondness for her, his betrayal of her trust, his belief that if he had just told her how he felt at an earlier time, he might have stood a chance at winning her heart. As each second of the afterlife stretched on, James was surprised to find himself contemplating not only Miss Swann, but also, her blacksmith fiancé.

Their rivalry over Miss Swann's affections notwithstanding, James had always felt a certain attachment to William Turner. This had been true from the first time he had pulled the shivering child out of the sea so long ago. Maybe it was that saving someone's life made one feel a sense of responsibility to keep that person alive. He supposed that he had eternity now to figure it out. There was little else to do on so small a boat, adrift and alone, but think. A memory from the past unfolded before him, so real he could almost see it.

"How is our patient, Miss Swann?"

The little girl jumped, startled. She had rarely left the boy's side since her father had assigned his care to her. For all that she was merely a girl of 8 surrounded by grown military men, Elizabeth had become positively protective. James privately thought it was rather cute.

"He mostly sleeps, Mr. Norrington," the girl said, twining her small fingers in the boy's sweat-dampened hair. "And he has a fever. I'm quite worried about him. I try to get Will to talk to me, but his eyes are always clouded and I'm not certain he understands me."

James smiled kindly at the girl. "It's probably best if you let him rest, Miss Swann. Our ship's doctor has said the fever is normal and he expects our young guest to make a full recovery once we return to land."

James had expected his words to provide the girl with some comfort, but instead, the mention of their impending arrival in Port Royal seemed only to distress her. "What will become of him? Once we reach land, I mean. One of the times, when he seemed to understand me, he told me his Mama was dead. He doesn't know where his father is, only that he's a sailor. I asked him what ship, but he didn't know, or maybe he just didn't understand me."

James sighed, looking upon the twitching, fevered child sadly. It was a common thing in the lower classes, or so he was told. A man would leave a woman with child and take no responsibility. The mother would make up lies so her little one would not be branded an unwanted bastard. There was little doubt in James' mind that William Turner's father had abandoned his child, if he even knew the boy existed. Even if the boy's father was truly a sailor and had simply neglected to say which ship he sailed and where, William would never find him. The size of the world seemed to be growing by the day. How could one penniless boy expect to find a single sailor in a world so large?

Will shifted and whimpered in his sleep. Elizabeth tore her pleading gaze from James to focus her full attention on her charge. "There there, Will," she said, taking his hand in hers. "You will be well. I promise."

It was amazing to James how very small and fragile the boy looked right then, pale and flushed with fever, alone and uncared for with no money or titles to sustain him. For all intents and purposes, the child was an orphan, and being an orphan in Port Royal was not a good thing. Had James been born to a different family, he could have been the one lying there with no say in his future, his fate determined by strangers who did not know or love him.

James felt a sudden sense of powerful determination. "Yes, child," he said to the fitfully sleeping Will. "You will be well. I promise you."

Elizabeth smiled at him, an expression of such pure an infectious gratitude, that James could not help but return it. "You mean it?"

"Of course I mean it, Miss Swann. I'm an Officer of the Royal Navy. My word is as good as gold."

James sighed. The memory was so vivid, it was almost as though he were watching a play re-enacting his youth right before his eyes. William Turner had once been a child so quiet and unassuming, it was easy to forget he even existed. Yet he had impacted James' life in more ways than he would ever have imagined. James had made a promise that day, to Elizabeth, to Will, and to himself, and he had failed to keep that promise. Unlike the blacksmith, James had allowed ambition and selfish intentions to sway him. Perhaps that was why Turner so aggravated him—the boy was so damned noble and self-sacrificing, no matter how badly the world treated him. Norrington had not only failed to keep his promise to Will and Elizabeth when they were children, but undoubtedly, his efforts to assist Jones and Beckett would soon land them at death's door, as surely as they had doomed Governor Swann.

James was so caught up in his musings, that he did not notice that he was not alone. One moment, he was lost in a sea of fog, and the next, the fog was lifted, and he saw that there were hundreds, perhaps thousands, or dinghies floating all around him. He could only assume at first these were his fellow damned, but when he saw some of the occupants were mere children, he knew he had to be wrong. What crime could a child commit that would earn them an eternity of floating aimlessly through the fog?

A loud splash drew James' attention from the ships around him, and he was horrified to realize that The Flying Dutchman had just surfaced. The souls around him became restless, and James could not blame them. It was bad enough to face eternity with his own memory tormenting him, but to have to face Jones again as well? Surely god could not be so cruel.

"Do you fear death?"

James had heard that question before, but this time, it was entirely different. Jones had spoken the words with bitter cruelty and sarcastic enjoyment—this new voice sounded tired and worn with a profound sense of sadness. James blinked his eyes and turned to face the speaker of those cursed words, not believing what he heard or even what he saw. "Turner?" How the blacksmith had wound up in Jones' place was something the former Commodore could not even begin to fathom, and for a moment, he was certain he was hallucinating. But there was no denying that face and that voice, even if both now held a ghostly quality that left James with chills.

Will started slightly, as if caught completely off guard. His eyes had been so unfocused and the words spoken so automatically and without thought, that James suspected that the young man had not realized to whom he was speaking. But there was wary recognition in those brown eyes now. "Norrington?"

Around them, the souls of the departed, some of whom had waited decades for Davy Jones to fulfill his duties, grew restless. The sounds of their wailing would have turned James' skin to gooseflesh if he were alive. But still, their spectral mutterings paled in comparison to the eerie power and otherworldliness that surrounded this once humble young blacksmith.

Will stared at James for long moments, his expression unreadable. After several long moments, he repeated his question in a voice utterly devoid of emotion. "Do you fear death, Mr. Norrington?"

I'm being offered a choice, James realized, and now the Dutchman's question to him prior to his death suddenly made sense. This time James was ready to answer. "Yes, I do fear death, Mr. Turner. I don't believe that I'm quite ready to go yet." Not until I make it up to Elizabeth, to Governor Swann, to the citizens of Port Royal…and to you.

Will's expression did not change, aside from a slight widening of his eyes. He continued to regard James in stony silence, as though waiting for the Commodore to say he had misspoken. Norrington simply returned his stare, as the departed souls around them grew more and more restless.

"You have my answer, Mr. Turner," James said, trying and failing to keep his voice strong. "I understand your hesitation. I have done nothing to earn your trust, but I hope that can change. I am not ready to face my maker until I've had a chance to absolve my sins. At least some of them."

Will remained silent and staring. His whole body was cast in a ghostly glow. "Dammit," he muttered under his breath after several long moments, his voice betraying emotion for the first time.

Norrington just stared at the boy, determined and resolute, even though every instinct he possessed was telling him to recant.

With a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes, William nodded. "Then, welcome to the crew line…Mr. Norrington."